


Her.

by theydiedofterminalstupidity



Category: Shadow and Bone (TV), The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Aleks is sad, Angst, Death, F/M, Grief, Hallucinations, Loss, Non-Graphic Descriptions of Blood, Rewrite of R&R's ending, Self-Inflicted Wounds, Severe Depression, Suicide, but it is there, major character deaths, the violence isn't really graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:48:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theydiedofterminalstupidity/pseuds/theydiedofterminalstupidity
Summary: A rewrite of the ending of Ruin and Rising, in which Alina is destroyed along with the Fold, and leaves Aleksander to mourn.
Relationships: Minor Mal Oretsev/Alina Starkov - Relationship, The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Her.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I needed Darkling angst. So I whipped this up over the past few hours. I apologize if any of it has errors? It wasn't beta'd.

That searing burst of light. The one that brought her to him. So painfully similar to the one that took her from him. The parallel was disgusting, it made his stomach churn with the mere thought of it. Perched on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, with his palms pressing against his eyelids, he could see it perfectly.

The absolute anguish on her face when she drove the blade into her best friend, and supposed lover. He knew that  _ otkazat’sya  _ boy was nothing compared to him. Him, the most powerful man in all of the world. Him, the most powerful Grisha ever known to man.

Her, his only equal. Her, the one who was meant to rule by his side. Light, to balance out darkness, to bring peace. Not only to Ravka, but to Aleksander’s troubled mind.

He’d waited centuries for her, and he had to watch as she tore herself apart at the seams, the light fighting to get to the surface, unafraid to destroy the only thing stopping it - her very being, her skin, her bones, keeping that light from escaping.

She’d obliterated herself, and the Fold with her. In one fell swoop, the Darkling lost everything that had mattered to him. He lost his only chance at redemption, his only chance at saving Ravka, and providing sanctuary for Grisha in all of Fjerda and Shu Han combined. With her, he could have accomplished anything, but the only memory he had of her was the blindingly white strands of hair, woven between fibres of Grisha steel, to form a fetter. She’d made him stronger, but he still had no harness over the light, even though she’d gained control over the shadows.

Each cry of “ _ Alina _ ,” that slipped past his lips brought a fresh wave of pain with it. After his initial scream that day on the Unsea, his throat was left raw for days. He was unable to hold it back, quartz eyes immediately flooding with tears, flashing darker with anger, before the terror returned.

Everything he wanted lay at his feet.

Limp, pale,  _ gone _ .

Even lying dead against the gray sand, she was still the image of beauty. Her hair seemed to form a halo around her head, bringing contrast to the lifeless eyes that had once matched his own fervor.

He could hear the chants of “ _ Sankta Alina! _ ” for hours, playing on repeat through his head, as a constant reminder of what he lost.

He was a fool, to think he could love, and have love in return. After all, who could love a monster like him? She’d said it herself, he was turning her into something worse, and he knew that. He couldn’t touch that smooth skin without darkness blossoming over it, inky tendrils leaving his fingers and spreading over her like webbing, trapping her there. When he lifted her body from the sand, the black covered her, leaving her in a shroud of darkness, while he brushed past anyone who dared to try to stop him. The tears weren’t falling anymore, but the tracks that were scored through the dirt and blood smeared on his skin remained, causing filth to gather in the little ridges left along the scars on his cheek.

He’d denied it, for the first few weeks. Kept telling himself that he’d turn around and see her, as they’d visit each other through that tether, and she’d be unharmed, waiting for him to take her into his arms. A little part of him knew that was gone, knew that the connection was severed. It left him feeling hollow, just a husk of the man he was before.

His mother had warned him about this, about getting too close, and letting someone in. Now, she was gone too. The only Grisha aside from Alina who could actually understand him, was dashed across the side of a mountain. Shattered, and broken. Just like he was.

He’d sworn off any sort of romanticism for hundreds of years, but he couldn’t stop the flicker of hope he got when she was brought to his silk pavilion in Kribirsk. That hope had bloomed into something greater, the heat had spread each time he laid his hands against her, and pressed their lips together. Each time she uttered his name, something in him shifted, begging to be let out. He wanted to love her the way she deserved, but she wouldn’t stop at anything to protect the world from him and his creations.

Aleksander wanted to be by her side every moment of every day, he wanted to spend this dreadful eternity with her, just to find some sort of relief in the knowledge that he was not alone.

But now he was. And that concept was so suffocating this time around, that he could feel it sinking in, seeping into his bones and every molecule of his being, cementing him in his misery, slowly but surely.

The only way he’d be able to escape it would be to drown himself in his darkness, to take his own life with the gift his mother had given him, and helped him to hone. It almost didn’t seem fair, that to be the most powerful, also meant to be the most hurt, but something about the irony of it all brought a wry smile to the Darkling’s lips.

He could have anything he wanted, except Alina. She’d been wrenched from his grasp just moments after he’d gotten her. They’d spent nearly two years with knowledge of one another, but it seemed like the briefest flicker in time to him. The months since her death dragged on, and it took everything within him not to set the paintings of her ablaze, to massacre anyone who tried to murmur her name, and beat down those who wanted to pray to the fallen Saint. Aleksander wanted her to himself, selfishness be damned, he felt he’d earned this glimmer of happiness, of  _ home _ that he found within her. He was not among the countless Grisha who admired the Little Palace, and spent their lives growing and dwelling there. He was the one to bring it up from nothing, and to invite others to find safety on the grounds. It was somewhere for the children to learn, to hone their powers, and to grow stronger.

He’d grown stronger through near-death experiences, and learned to use the Cut out of necessity, not while searching for praise from an instructor.

None of it seemed  _ fair _ , and that’s how he found himself walking in circles, screaming into the shadows he’d let plague his room, begging for something to end him, because he didn’t know if he could do it himself.

“ _ Come back to me, Aleks, _ ” it was just a whisper, but the sound of her voice was enough to stop him in his frantic pacing, and send a chill rattling down his spine. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d imagined it, but the thought of turning around only to find nothing was worse than the fear currently shocking through him.

“I need you,” he didn’t recognize his own voice. What used to carry a wave of calmness over anyone, was now scratchy, broken up by gasps for air, and pained whimpers. He fell to his knees, and his hands wove into his hair, tugging to distract himself from the feeling of his lungs burning with each breath.

What pulled him from his thoughts, however, was a hand laying on his shoulder, as delicate as always, and guiding him to turn around.

She was there, that soft, radiant smile pulling the edges of her lips upwards, while she looked over the man on the floor.

“You and I… Just you and I.” She paused, and his heart stuttered, lips parting and closing again as he tried to find words. “Isn’t that what you want?”

All he could do was nod, and watch as she guided a knife of Grisha steel into his hand. He knew what he had to do, and with her there?

He was sure he could do anything.

She said his name, and that was all he needed. He didn’t even feel the pain from it, or notice as blood spilled from the wound, staining the velvet carpet beneath him. All he could see was her, hear her whispering gentle praises, and feel the trace of her fingertips against his jaw. The usual warmth didn’t accompany her touch, and he questioned if she really was there, but it was too late. She’d helped him with the one thing he had left to desire, and he couldn’t find it in him to complain. The last thing he felt was her lips brushing his forehead, before he became one with the darkness surrounding them, letting it engulf him, and bring silence to his suffering.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr at billyrussosbitch and on Twitter at binbonsbitch ! Kudos, comments, and critique are greatly appreciated!


End file.
